When Lasse was put into a warm bed he lay there shivering; and he was not quite clear in his mind. Pelle warmed some beer; the old man must go through a sweating cure; from time to time he sat on the bed and gazed anxiously at his father. Lasse lay there with his teeth chattering; he had closed his eyes; now and again he tried to speak, but could not.
The warm drink helped him a little, and the blood flowed once more into his dead, icy hands, and his voice returned.
“Do you think we are going to have a hard winter?” he said suddenly, turning on his side.
“We are going on toward the summer now, dear father,” Pelle replied. “But you must not lie with your back uncovered.”
“I’m so terribly cold—almost as cold as I was in winter; I wouldn’t care to go through that again. It got into my spine so. Good God, the poor folks who are at sea!”
“You needn’t worry about them—you just think about getting well again; to-day we’ve got the sunshine and it’s fine weather at sea!”
“Let a little sunshine in here to me, then,” said Lasse peevishly.
“There’s a great wall in front of the window, father,” said Pelle, bending down over him.
“Well, well, it’ll soon be over, the little time that’s still left me! It’s all the same to the night watchman—he wakes all night and yet he doesn’t see the sun. That is truly a curious calling! But it is good that some one should watch over us while we sleep.” Lasse rocked his head restlessly to and fro.
“Yes, otherwise they’d come by night and steal our money,” said Pelle jestingly.